FULL MOON THERAPY.

BROKEN HEARTS OVER BROKEN BONES.

[ ☆彡 ]

she sits there, in front of me.

"how much does it hurt on a scale from one to ten?"

we're in the underground coffee shop, the one with the awful ratings. i always had a liking for the things that weren't good for me, yeah? the coffee was bitter but that saccharine smile of yours made up for it. the butterflies in my stomach and pounding in my chest is a three. you make my heart beat differently and my insides melt but i can control myself, i can turn back before it's too late. i can control myself.

we're in a shop we can't afford. you change into a velvet fitted suit that hugs your better features like it's meant to be there and model for me. whispers continue outside the changing room as our laughter fills the four walls within the space. there's love in the way you look at me and heaven in the way you say my name that could even fool the angels into thinking you're god. it's a five.

you park the car in the only empty space at the back of the drive-in theatre. 13 times we've watched this movie together and every experience feels just like the first. you put your hand on my thigh, holding onto me as if you don't, i'm going to slip away from you. silly boy, don't you know you're laced inside my mind? the warmth of your palms burn onto my skin and leave their mark on my heart. my god, it's a six. lips on bare skin, showing love in ways meant to keep us out of heaven, oh god, a seven, it's inching up to an aching eight.

old letters sit solemnly within my case studies, wanting to be felt. wanting to be loved. but you made up your mind. there's a forest fire in the middle of my living room, and with them goes every word you've ever whispered to me, french promises of sweeter days. i'm moving on, you don't control me anymore. the pain's a one.

tables across the distance in our favourite underground coffee shop, you looked at me like i was someone else. three years, four months, and five days later. you used to tell me i took your breath away, so why am i the one who can't breathe now? she brushes the last of my peppermint plum kisses off your cheeks and puts her own and for the first time, you smile at her how i used to smile, with you. i wrote you in my poetry but she's the one who turned you into metaphors.

i grip the chair, cracked palms and chipped nails digging into the black leather as restless feet tap against the reflective tiles feverishly. i don't know how to control myself. where did i go wrong?

"how much does it hurt on a scale from one to ten?"

a TEN, TEN, OH GOD A FUCKING GODDAMN TEN.